


Chiaroscuro

by ourspecialtonight



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Anal Sex, Emotional Manipulation, Fingering, Hate Sex, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Post-Yorkshin City | Yorknew City Arc (Hunter X Hunter), Power Dynamics, Trans Character, Trans Kurapika
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:49:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25925416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ourspecialtonight/pseuds/ourspecialtonight
Summary: The best manipulation, Chrollo had found, wasn’t a mountain of sweet lies. A careful succession of truths, each one revealed at exactly the right moment, got far better results.
Relationships: Kuroro Lucifer | Chrollo Lucifer/Kurapika
Comments: 27
Kudos: 239





	Chiaroscuro

**Author's Note:**

> Tagging for dubcon because Kurapika does consent, but Chrollo is very emotionally manipulative and Kurapika does feel a lot of inner conflict about it. Tread carefully if that's a sensitive topic.

Chrollo couldn’t sleep. 

With his nen abilities bound, he had retreated to a well-concealed safehouse in Meteor City to lick his wounds in private. He mostly spent his afternoons reading, then would venture out briefly around nightfall to find alcohol. Nights were passed drinking and grieving his friends, then he’d usually fall asleep against a wall as the sky grew pink in the east. From there, it was a race to see which would wake him first: the harsh noon sun, or his piercing headache. 

But tonight, after the bottle of god-knows-what was lying empty on the floor, his thoughts drifted to the chain user. The first time they had met face to face, Chrollo felt like a cobra staring down a mongoose. So much boiling rage in such an unassuming package, all directed at him. No other person had ever been so furiously preoccupied with Chrollo, to his knowledge. It was a little flattering. 

But it was more than that. Kurapika was one of a very select few who held Chrollo’s interest. Not even all of the Spiders could claim that, though he loved each of them, in his way. He wasn’t talented at reading heartbeats, but his ears were sharp enough for educated guesses. And in Kurapika’s heartbeat, in the backseat of that car, Chrollo had heard his perfect complement. Their two hearts beat together like a war drum, fire and ice together, relentless and hungry. The little eggplant woman crying out that she couldn’t bear to listen to either of them confirmed it. He wanted to learn everything there was to know about his captor, wanted to read him, drink him down, devour him. 

Damn it. He was never going to sleep. 

As the hazy sun filtered in the eastern window, Chrollo gave up and picked up the mildewy mystery novel he’d reading. It wasn’t any good, but pickings were slim in Meteor City. He ended up skimming over the same paragraph six times before he actually read it. He couldn’t stop thinking about what it would be like to touch Kurapika. Would he tremble? Would his skin bruise at the lightest pressure? How best to handle those traditional garments: rip them off all at once? Maybe it would be more gratifying to slow the process down and slip off each stiff layer slowly and deliberately, until each button on the soft under-layers, gently undone, revealed an inch more of pale skin. Death by a thousand cuts. Chrollo wasn’t even quite sure what to expect under all those clothes, but it hardly mattered. 

Such a delicate-looking creature, yet full to the brim with rage and regret. If Chrollo were to break his skin with a nail or a sharp bite, would all that grief come pouring out and leave him deflated like a balloon? Had his single-minded pursuit of Chrollo the last five years precluded other sexual encounters? _Oh god._ The thought of being so wanted made him slightly dizzy. Even if what Kurapika _wanted_ was to murder him. 

Chrollo was perfectly aware that he could take what he wanted with no consequences to speak of. But brute force was boring to him. It would be an even greater theft to steal Kurapika’s willingness, along with his body. This was no ordinary prize, to be savored for a moment then passed along. 

The consent of the last Kurta, in the hands of their executioner. 

Chrollo would have to orchestrate this heist carefully, patiently. Luckily, he did his best work in delicate situations. The most effective manipulation, he had found, wasn’t a mountain of sweet lies. A careful succession of truths, each one revealed at exactly the right moment, got far better results. 

* * *

The nen exorcist came and went, and Chrollo moved to an abandoned rectory just outside Yorknew. Shalnark and Machi had planned to stay with him for a while, but he dismissed them. He made no effort to conceal his return to the city. There was always a chance Hisoka would show up, instead of the visitor he wanted, but it was a risk Chrollo was willing to take. He resumed his routine, minus quite so much drinking, and waited. 

He did not have to wait long. On his fourth night in the new spot, as he was finishing a late dinner, he felt a disturbance in the en surrounding the basement. Chrollo felt sure he would recognize that fierce, fiery aura anywhere now. His lips twitched into a smile. 

Kurapika stepped over the threshold at the far end of the room. Nen chains glinted on his delicate fingers and snaked up his loose sleeves. Chrollo was faintly disappointed to see that his eyes were a blunted gunmetal gray. Probably some kind of contact lens. What a shame to cover something so lovely. 

“Hello,” Chrollo said, with practiced mildness. 

“I’m here to finish what I started.” 

Chrollo eyed the chains. The middle finger and the little finger were known quantities; the others were a mystery. Without the element of surprise and with all his senses intact, he didn’t think he was at much risk. But he also wasn’t eager to repeat the incredibly painful exorcism process, so caution was due. 

“Oh?” He got slowly to his feet and wadded up his napkin and other trash from dinner. 

Kurapika didn’t answer, just thrust his arm out, shooting the ring-finger chain toward Chrollo. This one had a small iron ball on the end of it; that could mean anything. He leapt up to avoid it and it snaked back toward Kurapika. It would come right back around behind Chrollo, so he took the split second to shoot toward Kurapika and get a quick punch in, but Kurapika flew back, dodging it. 

Kurapika fought like a wild animal. In the hotel lobby, Chrollo hadn’t really gotten a chance to appreciate it, but it was quite impressive. His every move was sharp and fluid, with zero hesitation. Chrollo could only imagine the conditions he needed to meet; the personal cost must have been tremendous. 

The ball on the end of the chain caught Chrollo in the temple. The sting made him blink, and in that time, the chain wrapped around him once again. Kurapika yanked him into range and punched him hard in the jaw. But this chain did not seem to affect his nen at all. Chrollo couldn’t perceive any special properties about it at all. 

He flexed his jaw. It wasn’t broken, but it was painful. “What does this one do?” 

“It would let me know if you’re lying to me. But right now, I’m using it because it hurts.” He jerked the chain and spun Chrollo out of it onto the floor, then gave him a swift kick in the ribs before leaping back out of range as Chrollo got back to his feet. 

Chrollo was confused. What possible reason could Kurapika have for holding back? This style of fighting was creative and unique, but in terms of lethality, it wouldn’t have been nearly enough to take down Uvogin. It barely even registered as a threat. Kurapika had tools at his disposal that he wasn’t even using. Then again, Chrollo hadn’t rolled out even a fraction of his entire arsenal, either. He decided to try an experiment. 

When he pulled out his poison-tipped Ben’s knife, he saw Kurapika zero in on it. Chrollo waited for the riskier chains to snake their way out, but instead Kurapika used the same plain one to hook the knife out of his grasp. It clattered onto the floor. He let it happen. If Kurapika wasn’t going to be serious, he wasn’t interested in fighting any longer. 

“This is fun and all, but it’s getting late,” he said. He bounced on the balls of his feet twice, then rushed Kurapika, ducking under the chain, feinting left, right, left, then hit him with an uppercut. 

Kurapika’s legs bucked and he crumpled to the floor, unconscious. Chrollo admired him for a moment, his soft-looking hair and the blooming bruise on his cheek, but resisted the urge to touch. That wasn’t the game. 

When he lifted Kurapika over his shoulder, it was completely businesslike. He took him outside and hailed a cab, then loaded him into the backseat. The driver looked alarmed, but was quickly pacified when Chrollo passed him a thick wad of bills. 

“Take him to the Grand Terminal Hotel. And if he’s not awake by the time you get there, please get him a nice room. You can give the name Chrollo Lucilfer, if they ask for one.” 

“Yes, sir!” 

Chrollo thought about it, then peeled off another 10,000 jenny and handed it to the driver. He could always acquire more money; this was worth the expense. “And please make sure he gets to his room and into bed safely. He’s not going to be feeling so good tomorrow.” 

“Of course, sir!” 

* * *

Things continued that way for several months. Kurapika would show up every ten days or two weeks, always late at night. He never bothered to hide his aura. He just came in the front door or a window, ren blazing. Chrollo suspected it was whenever he wanted to blow off steam. It was cute.

Usually Kurapika would start with some variation of “you’re going to pay for what you did.” The charade seemed to be important to him. Chrollo was never a fan of pre-fight banter, so he just waited quietly for Kurapika to finish yelling and come at him. Then they’d fight for thirty minutes or an hour, however long Kurapika wanted. Chrollo landed just enough hits for plausible deniability, and he always let Kurapika get a good one in, too. 

But his guest always snuck back to the mob compound by dawn. 

Truthfully, Chrollo found the fights themselves boring. Kurapika’s movement patterns were unorthodox, but it didn’t take so long to figure them out to the point where they were predictable. The interesting part was watching Kurapika lower his guard a bit more each time. He’d leave openings so obvious that it had to be on purpose, then wait to see what Chrollo would do. It was a delicate dance. One night, Chrollo ignored an opening a little too ostentatiously, with eye contact and a smile. Kurapika rounded on him, his aura spiking with frustration. 

“I’m not here to play with you! Fight me, god damn it!” 

Chrollo decided to take a risk. Kurapika had been dancing around whatever this was long enough: it was time to call his bluff. He flopped onto the floor and stretched his arms behind his head, then crossed one leg lazily over the other.

“No, I’m tired. You know the way out.” He eyed Kurapika from the ground, waiting to see how he would respond. Kurapika stared back at him, wary. Probably trying to figure out if this was a trick. Chrollo saw his eyes fog over with _gyo_ to check out the room, tracked his gaze over the peeling wallpaper, the stack of empty crates, the bare fireplace, a single floral armchair that Chrollo usually slept in. Nothing. He expected Kurapika to leave without a word, as he often did. 

But instead, Kurapika sank down against the opposite wall nearest the door, his arms coming to rest on his bent legs. The slant of his shoulders showed defeat. 

Chrollo felt like he’d accomplished something miraculous, like tempting a skittish feral beast to eat out of his hand. He tried not to let the glow of it show on his face. 

“If you insist on overstaying your welcome, I have a question I’ve been wanting to ask.” Chrollo closed his eyes as a show of trust. “What did you do with Uvogin’s body?”

Kurapika stared straight ahead, a perfect mask of apathy. “I buried him.” 

Chrollo felt oddly touched. That was a better end than any Spider expected. He’d come to terms with the idea of rotting where he fell a long time ago, but accepting it for the others was a harder sell. Those lonely nights in the Meteor City safehouse had been filled with thoughts of his friend’s body being picked apart by vultures or wild dogs, pieces of him scattered far and wide across the desert. 

He looked over at Kurapika, who still wouldn’t meet his eye. “Thank you.”

Kurapika said nothing. It probably meant nothing to him, but Chrollo wanted to say it anyway. He found himself feeling a bit more vulnerable than he'd planned, some of the rawness of grief creeping back into his veins. Somehow, sitting and talking with his friend’s killer didn’t feel strange at all. 

“Would you do the same for me, if I asked?” 

Only a moment’s hesitation. “I suppose so. I think everyone deserves that much.” 

Chrollo examined his hands. He wondered how his tattoos would look on dead waxy skin stretched thin over bones. “To be honest, I never imagined I’d get a burial. I don’t imagine I’ll care once I’m dead, but I like the idea now. Maybe that’s all that matters.” 

“I always assumed I’d go under the sacred hill with my ancestors. I don’t know who would put me there, now.” He glared. 

Chrollo considered offering, but it would be both a lie and an implicit threat, both of which he was trying to avoid. Instead, he asked the question that had been bothering him since the first time Kurapika showed up. “Why haven’t you killed me yet? I’ve given you plenty of chances. It’s like you’re not even trying anymore.” 

Kurapika set his jaw. “I could ask you the same question.” 

“Because I’m not in the habit of killing those I like. And I do like you, in spite of everything.” 

“‘In spite of everything?’ If you’re referring to your dead friends, let me remind you that you started all this.” The heat was back in his voice. 

“No, I understand. But you haven’t answered my question.”

“I…” Kurapika started, then halted. He looked pained. “When I saw your body in Yorknew City the night of the auction, I felt so... empty. I didn’t...” Kurapika let his thoughts trail off, but the truth of it was written on his face. The loneliness, the desolation, the hollowness. 

Kurapika was afraid of losing his purpose. Of losing Chrollo. 

Chrollo nodded thoughtfully. He could work with that. 

“Don’t worry,” he said softly. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

Kurapika scoffed. Then he got up and left. 

* * *

Five nights later, just after midnight, Chrollo was about ready to turn in early. He wanted to get to the end of the current chapter in Myths and Legends of the Dark Continent, a banned book he’d had to work quite hard to acquire, but his eyelids were getting heavy. When he heard something outside in the garden that wasn’t quite a noise, he picked his head up. He cast _en,_ but all he could detect was a rabbit burrowed under the front porch. He set his bookmark in place and put the book down, then shifted in his armchair to check the front hall behind him. Kurapika was standing near the front door, soundless and auraless, examining a faded and anonymous family photo on the wall. Which was odd for several reasons; Chrollo had never seen him use _zetsu_ before, nor was Kurapika known for hesitating. Was he giving himself a chance to back out of something before he was noticed? Chrollo was far too curious to allow that. 

“Back so soon? You barely gave me a chance to miss you.” 

Kurapika’s shoulders tensed at the sound of his voice. He didn’t return Chrollo’s faint smile as he crossed the threshold into the living room.

“Well.” Chrollo rolled his neck to loosen it. A few hours of reading always messed up his neck. “Are we fighting?”

“No. I came to ask you a question.” He took a seat on a wooden crate opposite Chrollo and set his elbows on his knees. 

Chrollo noted with interest that Kurapika was wearing a suit today. It looked good on him. The black contrasted nicely with his blond hair, and the collar showed just slightly more of his pale neck than his usual outfit. 

“Do you know what today is?” His voice was low and hard as iron. 

“No, I don’t.”

“Today is the six year anniversary of the Kurta Clan massacre.” 

“And you want to spend it with m—” 

“Why did you do it?” 

Chrollo had come to hate this question, but it was inevitable. For people he respected less, “money” or “the thrill” usually sufficed, or he just killed them outright before concocting an answer. But Kurapika had been truthful with him last time, at a cost to himself, so the right move would be to return the favor. 

“I don’t know. I wish I had an answer for you,” he said honestly. “Perhaps I’m too broken to understand my own motivations.” 

“I don’t care what’s wrong with you,” Kurapika snarled. The faint glimmer of half-summoned chains shone on his fingers. Chrollo had had strong suspicions, but this confirmed it: Kurapika was a Conjurer. More importantly, he must be severely compromised to let such a thing slip, after cultivating the illusion of his skill so carefully. Chrollo didn’t comment on it, just quietly filed the information away. 

“Don’t you? Because it sounds like that’s what you’re asking.” 

Kurapika glowered at him. 

“Even if I could give you a reason, what would it tell you, if not the exact nature of my depravity?”

Kurapika flinched at the word “depravity.” Chrollo smiled, then stood up and took a step closer, until he was standing directly over him. 

“It wouldn’t bring your clan back,” he continued. “I sincerely doubt it would make you feel any better. So why bother asking?”

Chrollo could see pink limning Kurapika’s black irises as he stared straight ahead, refusing to make eye contact. The contacts irritated him more than usual tonight. Maybe he was getting greedy. He lifted Kurapika’s chin with his fingers and felt his jaw tense. 

“I wish you would take those contacts out. You look so much nicer without them.”

Kurapika jerked his chin away. “You don’t deserve it.”

Chrollo laughed. “Maybe not. I never dreamed I’d see another pair of scarlet eyes. But you survived, didn’t you? Go ahead. Prove to me that the Kurta aren’t all dead.”

Kurapika paused, clearly struggling with himself. His fingers trembled as he reached into his eyes and took out the colored lenses. Chrollo knelt down to get a good look. Now he remembered why he’d been so enamoured of those eyes in the first place. The scarlet color was beautiful, true, but it was their meaning that captivated him: a feeling so strong that it couldn’t be contained. Blunting his emotional reactions came so naturally to Chrollo that he could scarcely imagine anything different. 

He recalled his disappointment that night six years ago, after it was all over. The eyes hadn’t held the same power when it was two hundred of them in a bucket. He had sold them off quickly and forgotten about the whole thing until he met Kurapika. But now, looking in Kurapika’s eyes, he was reminded of their real significance: an inner fire burning so bright and wild that it just might consume them both. 

“What an awful tell,” he said, fascinated. “No wonder you wear the contacts.” 

“You bastard!” Kurapika shot up out of his seat and punched him in the face. Chrollo bit back a snarl, but recovered quickly. He was so close, now was not the time to be ungraceful. 

“I meant no offense.” He brushed a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth, then stuck his hands back in his pockets. “What I meant to say is that my success— my _survival_ — has depended on my ability to conceal what I’m feeling. Having so little control over it would be torture for me.” 

Kurapika fell silent. Chrollo could see the gears turning in his head as he processed this very personal piece of information. It was working exactly as he intended, well worth the cost of revealing it. “I didn’t think you had emotions.”

“I’m not sure why, but I’ll take the compliment.” This was the opening he’d been waiting for. He knew just how to set the trap. A wicked smile tried to surface, but he reduced it to a twitch of his eye. “Can you guess what I’m feeling right now?”

“I don’t want to.” Kurapika’s voice wavered slightly. 

“Come on, you’re perceptive. Look into my eyes and guess.” 

Kurapika looked up at him. His red eyes were blazing with defiance, and a little confusion, and something else that Chrollo didn’t dare to hope for. God, he wanted to make Kurapika filthy. He wanted to drink in his self-loathing at allowing someone like Chrollo to lay hands on him. And yet he’d still allow it, still desire it. 

“You… you want me.” He turned his face away. 

“Very good.” Chrollo raked his eyes down Kurapika’s body. The suit fit him perfectly. Chrollo had liked the idea of removing the traditional Kurta garments for the awful symbolism of it, but the way this dark suit showed off the planes of Kurapika’s body was strictly more appealing. He reached over and smoothed Kurapika’s lapels lightly with his fingers. “Don’t you want me? Even a little?”

“I hate you,” Kurapika spat.

“I know, darling. But that’s not what I asked,” Chrollo said, keeping his voice low in Kurapika’s ear. A shiver ran through Kurapika. Chrollo could almost feel the heat coming off his red cheeks.

“No! I’ve never wanted you.”

Chrollo could feel it now; he could practically hear it in Kurapika’s jackrabbit heartbeat. He leaned even closer, letting his breath ghost over Kurapika’s neck.

“This may come as a shock to you, but you cannot bend your heart to your will. In fact, the harder you struggle, the more disobedient it becomes. Trust me on that.” 

Kurapika leaned back against the wall, but it wasn’t enough to keep Chrollo out of his space. He put a hand up, as if to push Chrollo away, but instead he just placed it on the matted ruff of his coat. 

“This coat is disgusting.”

“It’s been through a lot.” Chrollo huffed a laugh. “Careful, you wouldn’t want my coat and I to get you dirty. Not when you’re so clean.” He inhaled deeply, taking in Kurapika’s scent. He could practically smell the shame and the conflict. The desire. “I don’t want to take anything from you. All I want is to hear ‘yes.’” 

“Yes,” Kurapika whispered, so low it was barely audible. 

Chrollo let his lips brush lightly over Kurapika’s, not even a kiss. “Good boy.” 

He slid his hand down Kurapika's neck and chest, then his fingers settled on his thin black tie, letting the smooth material slide through them.

"I know you think about me. Did you know that I think about you, too?"

Kurapika grit his teeth. "I suspected."

"So you thought you would just show up to my home in the middle of the night, crying for vengeance? Lying to yourself about your intentions with me? Hoping against hope that I would make the first move? Not the traditional way to flirt, Kurapika." His hand fit perfectly in the narrow of Kurapika’s waist. 

"Fuck you."

"All in good time." Chrollo pressed his whole body against him, pinning him to the wall and lifting him just off his feet. It was nothing Kurapika couldn't get out of, if he really wanted, but he stayed. Chrollo's hand wandered down to his thigh, then felt around the gentle curve of his ass. As he touched him, his idle daydreams about Kurapika’s body took more solid shape. He raised a brow, asking silently for confirmation and direction. 

Kurapika met his gaze with narrowed eyes. "I don't suppose you know your way around a clit."

"Of course I do," Chrollo said smoothly. He tried not to be affronted that Kurapika would think otherwise. 

"Good. I won't waste my time holding your hand." Kurapika tugged his tie looser and pulled it off. "I have rules. If your filthy dick comes anywhere near my cunt, I will kill you. Same goes for your mouth. You can use your fingers on me, but if they go in me, I will kill you. Do you accept these conditions, or should I be on my way?”

“Yes,” Chrollo murmured into his neck as he started unbuttoning the top three buttons on Kurapika’s white dress shirt. He was used to smelling Kurapika’s bloodlust; smelling his shampoo was new and intoxicating. He didn’t care what restrictions were in place, as long as Kurapika was agreeing, saying yes, _wanting_ him. 

"Then we won't have any problems. Get on the floor.” Kurapika shrugged his jacket off and tossed it over the arm of the chair. Chrollo complied, and pulled Kurapika down to straddle him. He was nearly weightless. 

Chrollo reached up and slid Kurapika’s shirt down over his bare shoulders. His skin was so smooth and unmarred, unlike any skin Chrollo saw with any regularity. Incredible, to acquire that much skill in combat without any battle scarring. He traced his fingers lightly over Kurapika’s collarbones, admiring them. “I always assumed you’d chain me up for touching you like this.”

“Keep talking and I will,” he said, even as he ground his hips down into Chrollo’s clothed erection.

 _Liar,_ Chrollo thought. Kurapika’s body gave him away. The flush on his cheeks reached down to his neck.

“Dammit,” he muttered, and stood up again to pull off his pants, kicking his shoes off as he went. The tails of his partially-open shirt hung down over his hips and he ran his chain-draped fingers through his hair. A kind of desperate confusion was etched all over his face. When he dropped back onto the floor on his back, Chrollo moved on top of him on his knees and one hand, then slid his fingers down between Kurapika’s legs. Chrollo inhaled sharply when he felt that Kurapika was already wet. How badly he must have wanted this, down to the marrow of his bones, even though his mind cried out against it. 

Chrollo’s touch was gentle, but Kurapika still hissed as if in pain. A hand moved to soothe him, but he pushed it away. 

“You don’t let yourself have this often, do you? Too damaged, too self-loathing, too preoccupied,” Chrollo said in a singsong, leaving off the “with me” that would definitely make Kurapika get up and leave. He was no longer entertaining the fantasy that he was Kurapika’s first. The way he rattled off those rules made it clear enough. Still, Chrollo couldn’t imagine he’d had many regular partners. It was probably quick, nameless meetings in the dark: rough and impersonal and over in an hour or two. That was how Chrollo usually preferred sex, too. Just simpler that way; things stayed tidy. “It’s okay. I understand.”

“You understand nothing,” Kurapika snapped. 

“If you say so.” Chrollo leaned down and pressed an open mouth kiss to his throat, dragging his teeth and tongue over the delicate skin there. Moving down, he could taste the light sheen of sweat in the hollows of Kurapika’s collarbones. The marks Chrollo left on his neck and shoulders nearly took his own breath away. He looked so pretty, marked as Chrollo’s. Those bruises would stay hidden under his clothes for days, for only the two of them to know about. 

Chrollo noted with satisfaction that Kurapika was grinding his hips in rhythm with his fingers, just the slightest movements giving him away. His fingers slowed their beckoning, sliding languidly between folds and the crest of his clit. He wanted Kurapika to feel every single moment, to hold him down in time until he gave up fighting against his own pleasure. When Kurapika’s eyes drifted shut and his lips parted, Chrollo let his own expression relax into unrestrained fondness. 

Slim fingers grasped the floor, looking for purchase. Chrollo marveled at the creature writhing helplessly underneath him, caged on one side by his arm near Kurapika’s head. Even his little gasps and moans sounded angry, as if each one was a deeply personal betrayal. Still, not once did he reach up to touch Chrollo.

Kurapika came with a broken, stifled cry that sliced right through Chrollo. He was painfully hard in his pants. But there was something about focusing on Kurapika, receiving nothing tangible in return, that was unspeakably hot to him. This: Kurapika’s softly tortured noises, the traitorous responses of his body, the shifting emotions on his face, the control Chrollo held over all of it...this was the prize he’d worked so carefully to obtain. He would do this as long as Kurapika allowed it and not ask for a thing more. 

“Again,” Chrollo whispered harshly. He stroked relentlessly, keeping the same tempo as before, not even pausing to let Kurapika catch his breath. 

With Chrollo’s coat hanging down on either side, Kurapika was nearly enveloped by him. His long fingers slid back and forth, slick and nearly frictionless, over Kurapika’s clit. Chrollo watched him slowly fall apart, and his own composure started to fray at the sight. He was responsible for Kurapika looking like a shivering mess, so very helpless, so acted-upon, so _subjected-to_. And all it took was the light touch of Chrollo’s two fingers. His face flushed, and strands of his hair fell loose over his forehead. Luckily, Kurapika’s eyes stayed firmly shut, so he wouldn’t see the effect he was having on Chrollo in return.

Kurapika’s second orgasm hit him like a wave crashing over rocks. His breaths came heavy and ragged, more sobs than anything else, and his skin glistened with sweat. Chrollo made no move to stop, but Kurapika reached down and held his wrist to keep him from continuing. His grip might have broken a lesser man’s arm. _There are a lot of things about you that a lesser man couldn’t handle,_ Chrollo thought, and smiled to himself. 

“Had enough already?” Chrollo dropped down to lie on his side, then reached over to gently tangle his fingers in Kurapika’s blond hair. It was as soft as it looked. “I have to say, I’m a little surprised. I’ve never known you to give up so easily.” 

Kurapika didn’t respond to the bait. But his expression wavered, and a tear slipped down his cheek. Whether it was from emotion or simple overstimulation, Chrollo couldn’t tell. He leaned over and licked it away with the tip of his tongue.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered. “I’ve always thought so.”

“Shut up and fuck me,” Kurapika ground out. 

Chrollo stilled. His breath hung heavy in his throat and his cock strained against his pants. “Is that what you really want?”

 _"Yes,_ you asshole. How many times are you going to make me say it?” 

“A lot more,” Chrollo said. “It’s a good look for you.” He swung Kurapika up from the floor, his hand supporting the small of his back, and settled in the beat-up armchair with Kurapika straddling him. As delicious as it was to have Kurapika underneath him, Chrollo wanted to have some variety. This was very likely his only shot. He undid his pants and shifted them down just enough to free his cock. Kurapika braced his hands against the back of the chair and ground against him, seeking more stimulation to his clit. He looked just as good on top. 

“There’s lube in that drawer behind me, can you reach it?” Chrollo nodded his head at the endtable where he kept his few personal items.

“I don’t want it.” 

Chrollo sighed. Of course Kurapika wanted it to hurt. He was after self-destruction and physical pleasure, in that order, and Chrollo just was the most convenient means to those ends. He found he didn’t mind that terribly, but neither did he particularly want to rub his dick raw.

“If fucking you dry is one of your rules, then I’m afraid I’m not interested,” he said patiently. There was a risk that Kurapika would call his bluff, but he didn’t think it was likely. 

Kurapika huffed, then leaned over and retrieved the small, half-empty bottle of lube with two fingers, as if he didn’t want to touch it. He held it up in front of Chrollo. “Is this how you spend your days? Jerking yourself off in this chair while you wait for me to show up?”

Chrollo heated with arousal but kept his tone conversational. “No, I do that after you leave.”

“You’re disgusting.” Kurapika dropped the bottle into his open hand. 

Ignoring the insult, Chrollo drizzled some lube on his fingers, then asked a question he already knew the answer to. “You won’t let me prep you at all?” 

“Do you want to fuck me or not?”

“Clearly.” He gave his cock a few strokes with his hand to slick it, then positioned himself at Kurapika’s entrance. No point in dragging it out, if a rough fuck was what he was after.

Kurapika sat down on his cock in one harsh movement and gave a strangled gasp. Chrollo’s mouth fell open; the stretch of Kurapika’s ass around him was even tighter than he’d imagined. Kurapika moved right into a swift pace that must have been painful for him. Chrollo hadn’t even let himself dream that Kurapika would look quite like that as he rode him, with his lips bitten red, his hair loose and mussed. But it wasn’t only that.

It was the glory of winning. He’d set out to make Kurapika want him badly enough to set aside his all-consuming vendetta, even if only for a couple of hours, and he’d done it. It was by far the most rewarding victory he’d ever orchestrated, and by god, he was going to bask in his spoils. 

As minutes passed, Chrollo struggled to maintain control. At this point in his life, it was second nature to calculate his every move, to make those split-second decisions of what to conceal, what to reveal and how. But now he found himself grasping at the barest strands of composure. He wasn’t in the habit of making much noise during sex. That level of intimacy was not enjoyable to him. It felt dangerous. But the sight of Kurapika coming undone on his cock was very nearly too much to handle.

A phone rang somewhere in the pile of clothes on the floor. Kurapika paused his riding and reached down to grab his jacket, then fished his phone out of the inner breast pocket.

“Not a word,” he warned, then accepted the call. 

Chrollo stilled under him, grateful for the moment to get himself in check. 

“Hello?... Oh, hey Melody. Yeah, no, I’m fine… Yep.” Kurapika’s face softened in a way Chrollo had never seen before. The red drained from his eyes, and his mouth relaxed into an almost-smile. The lines of his body eased their tension. All of a sudden, it was almost unimaginable that he was capable of the calculation and violence Chrollo knew him for. “I just had something I needed to take care of. I’ll be back pretty soon… No, you don’t have to. It’s fine… Okay, bye.” 

Chrollo’s lips parted slightly. Kurapika was the most beautiful person he’d ever seen. Then Kurapika tossed the phone back on the pile of clothes and looked at Chrollo, as if just remembering that his cock was inside him. His face shuttered. 

“What?” he snapped. 

“Nothing.”

Kurapika started moving again on top of him, and Chrollo slipped back into the rhythm, possibly even more turned on than before. He thought about Kurapika getting dressed and going back to the mob compound and lying through his teeth to his beloved friends about why the back of his shirt was dirty, why his hair was disheveled, why his neck was bruised and bitten. He would wear that soft smile like a mask and assure them that they didn’t need to worry, that he was fine, while Chrollo’s come dripped down the backs of his thighs. Chrollo finally moaned, against all his better judgment. 

Kurapika shot him a vicious look. “You know, I have better things to do than wait around for you to come. Maybe I should leave you chained here and come back next time I feel like getting fucked.” 

“Please!” The word was uncalculated, past his lips before he could stop it. He was startled to hear that note of desperation in his own voice. 

Kurapika heard it too. An odd gleam came into his red eyes. 

“Beg.”

Chrollo faltered. “I don’t know if I can.” It was true. His desperate need was real enough, but he’d never begged for anything in his life. It would be humiliating to the point of impossibility, utter defeat. 

“Oh. Well, if you don’t care--” Kurapika stopped moving his hips and pulled his shirt back over his shoulders. 

“No, please! Please, Kurapika, let me finish.” The words flowed from him and it was just as bad as he’d feared. He couldn’t stop. He’d never felt so exposed and out of control. So frightened. Being at Kurapika’s mercy was never part of the plan. He’d been so stupid to bait the hook with pieces of his own humanity, no matter how carefully chosen they’d been. Kurapika had taken the bait, but he had it in his teeth and was dragging Chrollo to the bottom. “Don’t leave.”

He scarcely noticed when Kurapika began to touch himself again. “Keep going.” 

Chrollo had no choice but to comply. He could regret it later at his leisure, when Kurapika wasn’t grinding down on him so aggressively that his vision tunnelled. “Fuck, you feel perfect. I’m getting so close, please, don’t go yet.” 

Kurapika grabbed a handful of his hair and bent his head back roughly, exposing his throat. It was the first time he had laid a hand on Chrollo, and it felt incredible. 

“Oh god, you’re _ruining_ me,” he moaned brokenly.

Kurapika came instantly at his words, his whole body rocking into Chrollo’s then arching back away. With Kurapika’s hand fisted painfully in his hair and his tight little ass contracting around his cock, Chrollo was over the edge and gone. He grabbed Kurapika’s hips and forced himself even deeper as he came, consumed by relief and loss at once. 

Chances were good he’d never have this again. 

Kurapika slumped forward against his chest. His fingers loosened their grip on Chrollo’s hair and dropped back at his side. Chrollo stroked his hips absently and enjoyed the hot breaths on his neck as they recovered in silence. He resisted the urge to drape his arms around Kurapika’s shoulders. When Kurapika sat back up after a few seconds, their eyes met, just for a moment. His eyes had faded back to their natural gray. For once, he didn’t seem to be murderously angry. He just looked tired. Chrollo didn’t want to think about what kind of things were left unguarded on his own face. Whatever it was, Kurapika saw it. 

But it was only a moment. Then Kurapika was off his lap, pulling his pants back on and shrugging his suit jacket over tense shoulders. He retrieved his tie from the floor and stuffed it in his pocket, rather than taking the time to tie it. He stalked out the front door without a word or backward glance. 

Chrollo watched him go. 

It might be nice, he thought, to see Kurapika smile for him someday. But some things weren’t meant for his eyes. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments are welcome and appreciated!


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